This is my first attempt at poetry...Apologies in advanced for the level 3 sucking.

[TP-BigWill]

Numbers

Our lives revolve around one thing.
The mathmaticle connections between numbers and humans.
Has society become so shallow to focus less on the financial impact of that bling?
Yet we have not seen any changes to theese trends.

Rappers go on about $5000 diamond studed chains,
But the lives taken far succeeds the dollars spent.
Siera Leone suffers from droughts from sparse rain.
Yet no one looks at the suffering, just what that symbol ment.

Go on day by day
Building your own personality
That family trip you tok to the bay,
The very first time you've been stung by a bee.

Public opinions think life is a random compilation of moments.
Your very first kiss
All of your High School opponents
All thoose sparatic times of bliss.

From your millions of queries
to your hundreds of friends
How life becomes dreary.
All theese moments that blends.

Theese events have made you you.
The unique John/Jane Doe.
But your fairytale avoides life's ways, so true.
You are no more than a number.

In an instant your life is vanished.
As you go into a computer as a nine number object,
Thoose cozy little thoughts have become banished.
Hide frome this, I know this, you will surely reject.

But the truth shall be found in any building.
All your friends, your family tossed aside.
That little highschool fling
And all that is documented are the laws you did not abide.

Numbers are the wave of life.
Carbon based life forms can't ignore this.
Weather you stay with your kids and that pretty little wife.
All people must die, and although you might be missed.

There is no alternitive.
As your friends remember your actions
Although they may be selective,
they will add on to their memories of your magnetic attraction.

But futile this will be.
For when you're dead
You will not experience this earthly glee
You will be in the ground and your soul will be in dred.

For as your friends celebrate you.
The computer will mark person 123-456-7890 as dead.

No memories, no concerns.
This is technology's greatest gift, and down fall.
As humans perish, computers will return.
and all that is required phone call.

Are we men or machines?
are our memories real or fake?
weather our personal slate is dirty or clean.
Our Identities is based on numbers, not what we make.​

 

[Romance Hero]

That's quite a rant there, Will. lol Okay, here are my two cents...

It's a bit without a rhythm, so it sounds like a rap freestyle with a rock n' roll beat to it. I do however, see your ABAB rhyme scheme, which is good for a first try. There's a lot in that poem that made me think, look back, and also forward and what I should expect, and even that might not always be true.

I write a different style... so this is not really my expertise. I think it's okay, because you have a point, and you wanted to write about it. Nice job.